Hey Pete, why do we eve write songs like this man? People ain’t gonna change. I don’t know Bill, you know, uh, there might be somebody out there, you never can tell.

To the graduating class of two thousand whatever, Congratulations past due, you deserve better, Looking dapper in a cap and a gown, You got fam snappin flicks, clappin loud in the back of the crowd. Now the band playin Martin Circumstance got you amped feelin like a champ, Class is out of session at last. You’ve been patiently waiting, 12 years in the making, Anybody who has doubted you is sadly mistaken, With the paper with your name in old English for the taking, So moms can bring it home and frame it and display it, With the grade point average hanging over head, Brother sister please don’t believe the bullshit they said. Fuck the pledge of allegiance and arrogant teachers But peace to the people who don’t ever preach in the front of a classroom All day long, planting seeds of revolution, We dedicate this song.

It goes one for the student who refuses to submit And two for the teachers who are underpaid as shit It’s the next generation of miseducated youth Who demonstrate the truth and manage to make it through It goes three for the strikes giving young bloods life And four for the years you spent stifled inside It’s the next generation of miseducated youth-next time ask em for proof.

Now to the knuckleheads clowin in the back of the class To the teacher’s pet monkey in the front kissin ass But most of all everyone else who sat between em And questioned all the falsehoods the teachers believe in. Up in hallways herded and locker territorialiasm up in assemblies Nobody would listen, instead, rocked the mixed tape And walkman to street with the headphones threaded from the pocket through the sleeve. You received education through the music you heard, Cafeteria tables enabled beats to occur, Where students separated in cliques The State of the Nation manifested up in high school politics. History repeated, you repeat it to regurgitate. Slave ownin, dead white men, Folks you know they made curriculums to make obedient drones. Bring your paper but please your lyrics at home.

It goes one for the student who refuses to submit And two for the teachers who are underpaid as shit It’s the next generation of miseducated youth Who demonstrate the truth and manage to make it through It goes three for the strikes giving young bloods life And four for the years you spent stifled inside It’s the next generation of miseducated youth-next time ask em for proof.

Hey yo we made it, 45 caliber proof, And the teachers don’t believe that you can handle the truth But the truth is these suits can’t stand it when youth Begin to question the conditions and backwards traditions As you recognize the threshold of negative stress The crossroad between complete failure and success, It’s so necessary you pay attention in class Never tell you the conditions in which to apply to math Only 65% of your peers freshman year are still here And half that total will move on But three out of four will drop out in two years Add it up and it equals some shit has gone wrong Now the snakes gave the education budget roll back No child left behind is just a backboard draft As you stand at the summit future facin the wind Now it’s time to let your true education to begin

It goes one for the student who refuses to submit And two for the teachers who are underpaid as shit It’s the next generation of miseducated youth Who demonstrate the truth and manage to make it through It goes three for the strikes giving young bloods life And four for the years you spent stifled inside It’s the next generation of miseducated youth-next time ask em for proof